


It was the wine, I swear!

by RainySunday



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Drunken Flirting, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Pre-Canon, and other things, which then turns into drunken kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySunday/pseuds/RainySunday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For Christ’s sake Bash, I don’t need your goddamn advice!” Francis shook off his brother’s hand, and resumed pulling his shirt off, depositing it on the floor at his feet. Fire flickered in his eyes despite the alcohol haze, because fuck it if his brother was going to make him out to be some naïve young school child. </p><p>Sebastian stepped back on his heel a bit, raking his eyes up and down the torso of his half naked sibling with a challenge in his eyes. “Yeah? Prove it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was the wine, I swear!

**Author's Note:**

> There is an appalling lack of Francis/Bash fic in this fandom, which I felt compelled to remedy.

The evening started off innocently enough.

 

Strings started playing an upbeat waltz while people partnered up and began to move out onto the floor. Francis watched from his vantage point under the second floor balcony as a couple near him took hands and began spinning, causing the girl’s dress to whirl out around her – she looked like a beautiful lavender flower. Francis imagined taking her hand in his, saying something witty and drawing a smile from her smooth lips.

 

Or, he might get laughed at for even attempting to converse with her – sure, he might be the Dauphin, but he was still gangly and awkward at times, and betrothed. Not too many ladies here would bother with him, especially seeing as most young, unmarried women at court were looking for potential husbands. At least their parents wanted them to be. Francis sighed and downed the remainder of his wine. There were lots of perks to being crown prince, but it could also be very isolating.

 

“Brother!”

 

Francis cringed – the last thing he needed in his melancholic mood was his very attractive, very suave ladies’ man of an older brother barreling in and making him feel worse. Bash arrived next to him all at once in a way only someone of his commanding presence could; broad shoulders, dark green embroidered jacket, black brown hair, with glass of wine in hand.

 

“What are you doing hiding over here? If you plan on doing _any_ dancing tonight at all, you’re going to have to find a partner – which, unless you plan on dancing with the candleholders, would require you to go talk to some people.” Bash stumbled slightly, and grabbed his brother’s elbow to steady himself.

 

Francis put on a forced smile. “Looks like you’re enjoying the night enough for the both of us. Too much wine?”

 

Bash removed his arm, and waved what looked to be nonchalantly, but came across as a little sloppy. “Oh, no such thing! I am perfectly in control-“ Bashed paused to hiccough- “and there are some lovely girls here tonight. I danced with this young thing, Sophia I think her name was, dress bodice cut scandalously low – though I wasn’t complaining. A pity she wasn’t a little older, though if her father remains on good terms with our dearest dad, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better in a few years, if you catch what I mean.” Bash wiggled his eyebrows comically, and pulled a smirk from Francis.

 

“If you’re the same person at all in a few years, you will have forgotten all about her by then.”

 

“Nay, dear brother, one doesn’t forget breasts like that.” Bashes face displayed such a look of longing at that statement that both boys burst into giggles. “You should go talk to someone yourself! Come, if there was any girl in the room you could have, who would it be?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know….”

 

“Well, that might require looking. You’re not still hung up on Olivia leaving are you? That was months ago! I do believe you were quite smitten with her – ideas of taking her as a mistress? Nobody could blame you…”

 

“Of course not! She left with a prestigious offer of marriage, I’m sure she is currently happily settled in some large chateau in Burgundy by now.”

 

“Perhaps she’s with child!” Bash turned to face his brother, eyes comically lit up. “Wonder if it’s her husbands or yours - I can barely imagine her slender frame all swollen and…” Francis cut him off.

 

“I said I was over it, that doesn’t mean I want you going on and on about her.”

 

Bash took on a look in his eyes, both teasing and knowing. Francis, wanting to head off another assault on his still lingering feelings for Olivia, grabbed hold of their previous topic and scoured the room of whirling bodies.

 

“There, the girl in grey, the one with the excessive lace. She is very pleasant to the eye.” Francis gestured off towards the right of the room, to a lady currently dancing with the Duke of Lyon.

 

Bash allowed the sudden change of topic to go unspoken, and looked to where Francis was pointing. “Hmm, never been a huge fan of red hair myself, but she does have a nice figure. What really matters is what she can do with it.”

 

Francis flushed in embarrassment. “You are absolutely incorrigible! How many glasses of wine have you had this evening so far?”

 

Bash laughed, and raised his goblet, and examined it with mock interest. “I couldn’t say….. I lost count around the 7th or 8th glassful.” He straightened his glance and leaned in to Francis, stumbling a tad too close. “The real question here, dear brother, is how many glasses have _you_ had? Because if my suspicions are correct, the answer is not nearly enough.”

 

“I rather prefer to be able to stand upright on my own, thank you very much.” Francis sparred back, though his tone was much more jovial than earlier.

 

“Nay, it is a _crime_ I say, that our fair and noble Dauphin goes without adequate drink!” Bash launched into a somewhat mocking, but hilariously accurate impersonation of their father’s “speech” voice. “Servant!” He caught the attention of a startled maid, who moved over to the boys. “Please get the most esteemed prince a large glass of that fine Italian wine!” She bowed, and scurried off.

 

“Bash, the table is about ten feet away, we could have gone ourselves.”

 

“Ah, but what’s the fun in that? Besides, I’m starting to see why you were standing over here. Excellent view. See that lady over there dancing in the red dress? She comes across as bold and brash, until her shift comes off. Most timid thing I have ever taken to bed.” Bash wrinkled up his nose. “But still preferable to Lady Margaret- can never make up her mind about whether she wants to kiss you or slap you. Makes for a very confusing courtship.”

 

Francis laughed. “Since when have you properly courted anyone? At least you have the liberty of declaring someone as yours – I cannot even do that.”

 

Bash rolled his eyes dramatically. “Courting is absolutely overrated. I like to keep my options open. Also remember, dear brother, that bastards are good for keeping your bed warm at night, but not fit for the marriage altar.” Before Francis could acknowledge that comment, Bash turned abruptly. “Ah! The wine. Wonderful, you brought me one too.”

 

Francis found himself with a flagon of wine large enough for three people thrust into his hands, a few small drops making their escape onto his sleeve with the sudden movement. Bash barely allowed him to steady his glass before leaning in with his own.

 

“A toast, brother, to these two painfully attractive young men that we are, and to all those wonderfully lucky women who will choose to acquaint themselves with us in the future.”

 

Francis humored Bash, clanked glasses with him, and took a large swig. _Yeah, too sober. What the hell_ , he figured, and took a second. Bash clapped him on the back.

 

“There you go!” Bash grinned proudly, as though his goal for his evening was being fulfilled in getting his younger brother sloppily drunk – or at least on his way there.

 

**************************************************************

 

An hour later found the two boys laughing raucously, loudly enough to attract a slight amount of attention from the older guests, but due to Francis’ position at court they merely rolled their eyes and continued on with their conversations.

 

“Twelve! Is that the number of girls you’ve slept with, or looked at?” Francis shot a challenging gaze towards his brother.

 

“You act as though you’re chastising me, but I think you’re merely jealous. If father himself hadn’t caught you in the boathouse with Olivia, I would have sworn that you would still be fit for the priesthood.”

 

Bash puffed up his chest, and attempted to sober his face. “It is I, Dauphin Cardinal Francis, here to outlaw all types of ungodly carnal contact between the members of court, and hithero ban all dancing, drinking and merriment of any kind…”

 

Francis hit him playfully, laughing to the point of hiccups, trying to get Bash to break character. “I do NOT look like that. I have participated in my fair share of “merriment”, I’ll have you know!”

 

“Oh yeah?” Bash smirked. “With whom? Been practicing by kissing your pillow before you go to sleep?”

 

Francis leaned in to Bashes ear. “I kept company with Anne deChoix last weekend.”

 

Bash leaned his head back and laughed. “Kept company? Did you have tea, and discuss the weather?” Francis grabbed his sleeve, and pulled him back.

 

“Shhh! No, we kept company in the……the biblical sense. But that’s fine, sit there and laugh. I’m not going to force you to believe me.”

 

“If you say so, I won’t argue. But you don’t need to go making up stories just so I won’t tease you. You already know that making your life difficult is my purpose for getting up in the morning.”

 

Francis smiled and sighed dramatically. “Then I wish you’d stay in bed!”

 

“Oh, don’t you worry brother, I spend _quite_ a lot of time in bed.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, you twat!” Francis exasperatedly pushed his brother in the shoulder in retaliation, which unfortunately coincided with the exact moment a servant was wending their way past carrying a large pitcher of red wine. Francis watched in helpless amusement as his older brother took a very cold bath right there on the edge of the dance floor. Bash was slightly too drunk to look properly surprised, but that didn’t stop him from gasping rather loudly at the surprise baptism.

 

“Your grace! I am SO sorry, let me just…” The servant, a younger boy, looked as though he wanted to sink right into the ground out of embarrassment.

 

“Not your fault! Wasn’t looking where I was going. Never much liked this jacket anyway.” Bashed smoothed over the situation in his typical fashion, and sent the servant for a towel to clean up the floor. He turned back to Francis with a suddenly deadpan expression.

 

“I think you owe me a new shirt.”

 

The two exited the hall in a renewed bout of giggling.

 

 **********************************************************

 

The halls were significantly darker than the ballroom had been – the lack of light was making finding his steps a little more difficult than usual. Francis had only had, what, three more glasses of wine? He couldn’t remember.

 

“Francis, stop dragging your feet! I’m leaving puddles of wine on the floor, and I think I’ve pissed off enough servants for tonight already.” Bash was turned around and walking backwards, leaving Francis to wonder how on earth Bash was holding his liquor so well. His own head felt pleasantly swimmy and warm, and the thought of moving too quickly was not really a desirable one.

 

Francis finally got his brain caught up, and called ahead to his brother. “My chambers are closer! I’ll lend you a shirt, there’s no sense going all the way out to the north wing to change.”

 

Bash smiled teasingly back at his little brother, and brought his hand up to his mouth in mock coyness. “Why, to be admitted entrance to the royal chambers… do you really think we’ve been acquainted long enough for this step in our relationship?”

 

Francis walked astride of his brother then, and grabbed him by his elbow, turning him around to face the direction he was moving. “Come on, you sod. What was that about not wanting to leave puddles in the hallway? You’re still dripping.”

 

“It’s a pity such good wine was wasted. Perhaps I should ring out the jacket and salvage what’s left.”

 

“As if you need more to drink!” Francis stumbled into his door, he could have sworn the distance to it had shortened on him when he wasn’t paying attention. The guards on either side did little more than nod as he regained his balance and pushed the doors open, Bash following much too closely afterwards. After a small incident of Bash stepping on the heel of Francis’ boot, and both nearly landing on the floor but narrowly recovering in a flurry of waving limbs, only to nearly fall over again from laughing, Francis managed to close the large doors behind him.

 

“A picture of grace, we are.” Bash leaned up against the mantle of the fireplace to catch his breath.

 

Francis turned from where he stood, hands on knees and breathing heavily, to look up at the picture of his brother stretched out languidly with elbow leaning on the fireplace, dark hair mussed in just the way girls liked best, jacket opened and exposing his shirt underneath with its drawstring barely laced. _Jesus Christ, with him around, I can understand why girls don’t look at me. Not first, anyway._ Francis shook his head. _Why were they in here? Shirt. Right._

 

Francis stood upright again, and walked over to his armoire, and began rooting around for a suitable change of clothing for his brother. “You’re going to stain my wallpaper, you ass. Take that shirt off, and toss it on the floor.”

 

After locating a blue shirt he thought might work, Francis turned suddenly, startling himself at the proximity of Bash, who had apparently walked across the room to join him without his noticing, and had also shrugged off his jacket in the interim.

 

Bash leaned forward and took the shirt from his brother’s grasp, leaning close enough that Francis could smell the odor of the wine on his breath. “Asking me to take my clothes off with no preamble of any kind? Good god Francis, no wonder you can’t get a woman to bed you.”

 

“Well, considering I’m not trying to bed _you_ , I’m not too concerned about your thoughts on my seduction techniques. Now try the damn shirt on.” Francis was going for authority with that last statement, but somehow it came out a bit deflated. _Why was his heart racing? Does too much wine do that?_

Bash winked. _Fucking hell._ “Whatever you say, little brother. It’s not as if I could teach you a trick or two….” And with that, Bash reached over his shoulders, tugging off the sodden shirt in one fluid movement, finishing by tossing it smoothly over his shoulder where it landed squarely on top of the previously discarded jacket.

 

 It took a moment before Francis realized that his back was to the chest of drawers, and that neither of them were moving.

 

“Breathe, Francis. It’s not like you’ve never seen a man without a shirt before.” Bashes tone had somehow slipped from the teasing tone it normally held into something satiny and dangerous – and Francis found himself floundering to figure out which way was up or down.

 

_Definitely too much wine._

Despite it all, he somehow managed to muster up enough sense to string a retort together.

 

“Not much to see, really. You sure you shouldn’t be letting up on the dessert tarts a bit? It’ll be awfully hard to keep up your wily ways with a gut the pope himself would be proud of.” Francis laughed nervously.

 

Bash held his ground, and smiled deviously. “Fine then, oh great and fit specimen that you are. Lets see how many tarts you’ve been sneaking at dinner.”

 

Not to be outdone, and rather proud of the progress he had been making with sparring practice and the results it had produced in his body, Francis rose to the challenge. Before reason could rear its head through the haze of the wine, he had dropped his own belt and coat, and was nearly on his way to disrobing his shirt when Bash reached forward and caught his wrist. His heart jumped as his brother invaded his personal space yet again.

 

“Lesson one. Don’t rush.”

 

“For Christ’s sake Bash, I don’t need your goddamn advice!” Francis shook off his brother’s hand, and resumed pulling his shirt off, depositing it on the floor at his feet. Fire flickered in his eyes despite the alcohol haze, because _fuck it_ if his brother was going to make him out to be some naïve young school child.

 

Sebastian stepped back on his heel a bit, raking his eyes up and down the torso of his half naked sibling with a challenge in his eyes. “Yeah? Prove it.”

 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the time of night, or his brother’s firm body out in the open making him feel all kinds of messed up confusing thoughts, or that streak of pride a mile wide that was screaming in his ear that _fuck YOU I KNOW how to seduce someone_ or maybe it was the glint in Bash’s eyes that looked like a green mirror of his own, but reason was gone and wasn’t returning anytime soon, and Francis felt this moment so keenly in his blood that he was itching and burning with it, and before any more words or thoughts or _anything_ could be formed, he had closed the space between the two of them, wrapped his fingers firmly in that oh-so-fucking-frustrating hair and jammed their mouths together in a hot and messy kiss.

 

Tongue met tongue, and there were lips and teeth and _god when does one BREATHE_ and Francis had to remind himself not to rip out his brothers hair from trying to hold him close, but the sour of wine and the headiness of sweat pulled at his senses till his brain hurt, till Bash roughly had two hands on his waist pulling him closer, and _CHRIST_ he had his nails roughly scoping up his back, so Francis moved his mouth to his brother’s neck, and trailed circles under that stubbly jaw, and Bash _moaned_ so he moved up further, grazing teeth over his earlobe and SHIT he had hands to use, and why was it so _hot_ in here, so he moved one hand to his brothers belt, more enthusiasm than tact, while Bash moved one arm up his spine and the other down to clasp his - SHIT that was rough, _Bash don’t bruise my ass, I need that…_

Bash pulled back briefly, his gaze murder and sex and way _way_ too clear for being drunk and…

 

“First to call chicken.” Bash growled, and dove back towards Francis’ neck, sucking, then biting, and FUCK. He was NOT backing down.

 

Francis pushed backwards against his brother, momentarily breaking contact between his flesh and Bash’s teeth, and used the advantage to unbuckle his belt one-handed, staring down the slightly taller man with about as much power and authority as Francis could conjure. They slammed into the post of his bed, the force moving them back into an intimately close proximity of the other, where they paused briefly, gazing at each other’s mouths, breathing as though the air had been drawn violently from the room.

 

Bash broke the silence, smirking. “I’d give you seven out of ten. Still room for improvement, but I’ll give you credit, your technique isn’t actually that…”

 

Francis kneed his way in between his brother’s legs, grinding into the newly found space. “Shut up, and use your mouth for something useful.” Francis dragged his fingers aggressively across his brother’s stomach, glaring him down.

 

“As you wish, my lord.” Bash retained the smirk, but Francis swore the color of his eyes darkened violently at that last comment. He looked absolutely predatorial. _Bring it on – I’ve been waiting for a good hunt._

Bash suddenly spun his brother around, trading their positions, and dragging Francis’ arms above his head, holding them there while Bash began slowly dragging his teeth further down his body, nipping and breathing heavy. He collected up his arms with one hand, freeing the other to possessively grasp and palm in no particular order – chest, stomach, ass, shoulder, face – all while grinding up against him.

 

Not to be outdone, Francis pressed back. His arms might be pinned, but his head wasn’t. When Bash next reached his hand up to his face, he turned and took a digit into his mouth, sucking briefly before releasing it, holding eye contact the whole while. As suspected, the shock caused Bash to release his hands, now using both to cup his younger brother’s jaw, pulling him into a deep, possessive kiss.

 

Francis jumped on the chance to use his newly freed hands, reaching down to undo his brother’s belt also. _There, now we match._ Before he could remove the belt entirely, distraction came in the form of his brothers wandering hand moving _oh god_ THERE – and damn it felt like heaven had come to earth.

 

A brief flicker of doubt rose in Francis’ mind, _this is your brother - well, half-brother, and this isn’t right –_ but was quickly driven out when he felt the cold air brush against his ass as his pants slipped down slightly, apparently the friction of rutting against his brother too much for the lack of belt to handle. He groaned as Bash went with it in stride, his hand now one layer of fabric closer to Francis, where wine and his brother’s proximity were mixing together and causing the room to spin.

 

Bash had his mouth pressed to Francis ear once again, growling almost inaudibly. “Have you proved your point yet, brother?”

Not feeling as though he had the upper hand just yet, there was no way he was tapping out. He had been one-upped by Bash more times than he could count, and fuck, maybe his brother had more experience with women, but he’d be damned if he’d admit it. Francis responded by aggressively turning the two of them yet again, twisting in such a way that they were now both on the bed, Francis straddled across his brother’s hips. Bash wrapped his hands around his brother’s ass, and scooted them further up onto the mattress, freeing them from the worry of sliding off if they moved too suddenly.

 

Francis trailed his fingers down his brother’s bare chest, splayed out below him in stark relief from the candlelight coming from behind him. He caught Bash across the nipple with a thumbnail, causing a quick intake of breath by the older sibling. However, the moment was too fast paced and frantic to warrant pausing and admiring the skin of the other – Bash pulled him back to his face, where the rough, heady kissing resumed. He raised a knee, which Francis shifted on top of, rutting into as his hand _finally_ found the confidence to wander below the waistline of his brother’s trousers.

 

 _FUCK and GODDAMN._ It wasn’t fair! Surely God must have given Francis SOME advantage over his brother, but if he had, this wasn’t it. Based on his limited knowledge, Francis knew he wasn’t small, but _god._ There lay Bash, thick and hard and LARGE, and by god was he going to pay for it. Francis leaned in a little harder than was necessary, eliciting a somewhat pained gasp and moan from Bash.

 

“ _Jesus!”_ Bash gasped. “Go easy!”

 

For once Francis felt bold. “Give and take, brother. Those bruises you’ve surely left on my neck are going to take a while to fade.”

 

Bash grasped Francis by the waist and hauled him sideways, flipping to the top, and finishing by raking his nails rough and hard from waist to collarbone. Francis felt as though cold water had been poured down his spine, small nerves erupting all the way down to his ankles.

 

“Fine then, your turn to take.” Bash leaned in, mouthing Francis’ chest, circling his sparse chest hair with one hand before moving in and pinching a nipple. As Francis gasped, Bash slid the other hand onto the firm bulge still hiding away inside his brother’s half removed trousers. He continued grinding up into him, getting relief for himself against his brother’s hip, as Francis wriggled and groaned under him, losing semblance of what on earth he was supposed to be doing with his hands.

 

His one fist found Bash’s hair yet again, but he no longer worried about being too rough. In fact, the harder he pulled, the more it spurred his brother on. Heat built inside Francis, hot, molten, roiling pressure, as teeth became bolder, bites sharper, nails firmer. Bash sped up his rhythm against Francis hip, still palming the younger brother in time with his movements. Bashes own noises became breathier, his actions less exact, and _oh god oh god oh god oh god…._

Stars were real. Not the tiny pinpricks he could map out and read about, but the whole of the heavens pouring through him, pulling him apart, setting every nerve on fire. Maybe he screamed. He’s not sure. White hot pleasure was drowning him, pulling him under, wave after wave.

 

When he finally began to surface, Francis leaned over to see Bash lay next to him. His breath matched his own in pace and heaviness, sweat beading on his forehead, one drop running down and catching on that perfectly curled dark set of eyelashes, which Francis couldn’t help but reach over and wipe away.

 

Bash opened his eyes, and turned to face him. His smile hit Francis like a cannon to the gut.

 

Bash smirked. “So, shall we call it a tie?”

 

Francis just leaned his head back and laughed softly.

 

***********************************************************************


End file.
